


against the dying of the light

by notthelasttime



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Developing Relationship, Ignyx Week 2018, M/M, Nyx lives AU, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthelasttime/pseuds/notthelasttime
Summary: He smells booze.Distinct and pungent on Nyx's breath, and it's a blessing and a curse because that impaired judgement is probably what finally led him to open the door. But Nyx is an unknown, a ghost, by most accounts. And Ignis doesn't know if all the heavy drinking he's been doing will help or hurt in the end."The fuck do you want?"It's not a pretty image that Ignis puts together in his mind, but at least the first question Nyx had asked him hadn't beenwho the fuck are youand that's something. He may not have much dignity left, but it's still worth trying to preserve. They hadn't had much interaction at the Citadel, and in the grand scale of time, not much has passed, but enough has happened to them both to change everything."Nyx Ulric," he says, "may I come in."In which: Ignis find Nyx in the World of Ruin, and Nyx finds Ignis back. They do not go gentle into that good night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for Ignyx week day three: wearing the ring of the lucii

“Don’t you ever want to talk about it?”

His voice is quiet enough that it wouldn’t have woken Nyx if he was sleeping. A moot point; Ignis knows he’s awake. He can tell from the sound of his breathing, every minute little fidget that Nyx makes, the kind of thing so easy to tune out before, all the background noise that has become his entire world. Like the iron giant, stomping heavy somewhere out in the night, goblins clamoring around its feet. And part of that is the world they live in now, the darkness making the daemons bold, but mostly it’s him. And all the things he never noticed before.

Quiet. The stilted kind when someone is trying to be too still, and Ignis thinks his comment will be ignored, the way that Nyx likes to ignore all the things that trouble him, and willing them to ignore him back. Another hunt with just the two of them, another night spent wondering what he should say and what he shouldn't. But it was easier with Nyx somehow, to pick himself back up and start again from scratch. Easier than it had been with Gladio or Prompto at least, weary of their constant comparisons to who he was before, knowing now he could only come back lacking. Prompto perhaps had more honesty behind the good intentions, but it made him too soft to point out hard truths, always afraid of hurting feelings. Gladio carried the sting of words he’d said before. There was no way for Ignis to not feel like a burden. 

With Nyx it’s almost a feeling of anonymity. A blank slate of someone that only knew him tangentially before, had never seen him fight or cook, could not make the comparison and see his current deficiencies. But that feeling is one to fight, when it makes him was to spill it all, tell everything, including the terrible and repugnant because it's somehow easier to do with someone he's only barely getting to know. Their conversations have been balanced on the edge, just ready to be pushed off and plummet into the personal, the trap that Nyx, somehow, keeps avoiding. 

Even if, every time on the rare occasion that they briefly touch hands, Ignis feels the myriad of scars, thick and raised, feels his heart speed up because of it thinking,  _you know, you know, you understand, you know what it’s like_. 

Ignis hears him turn, that soft tug of a blanket, so that they are no longer back to back. Nyx is facing him, and Ignis almost thinks he can feel the hard stare at the back of his head. There’s a touch, fleeting and barely there, Nyx’s finger on his back, starting to trace a line up the center of his spine before it gets pulled away.

“No,” Nyx says, “I don’t.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He smells booze. 

Distinct and pungent on Nyx's breath, and it's a blessing and a curse because that impaired judgement is probably what finally led him to open the door. But Nyx is an unknown, a ghost, by most accounts. And Ignis doesn't know if all the heavy drinking he's been doing will help or hurt in the end.  

"The fuck do you want?"

Ignis can picture it; eyes pink and watery, the little bit of sway as he stands. There's a slight smell coming from inside the apartment. Not terrible, but enough. Garbage that hasn't been taken out in a while, left to sit in the Lestallum heat. He knows that Libertus has been living in the tiny basement residence as well. But Libertus has been gone on hunts and checking in at outposts for the last two weeks, and that means too much time alone. This was not a coordinated interference, but just maybe Libertus had let slip his plans a little too casually because he knew Nyx a little too well.

It's not a pretty image that Ignis puts together in his mind, but at least the first question Nyx had asked him hadn't been _who the fuck are you_ and that's something. He may not have much dignity left, but it's still worth trying to preserve. They hadn't had much interaction at the Citadel, and in the grand scale of time, not much has passed, but enough has happened to them both to change everything.

"Nyx Ulric," he says, "may I come in."

He half expects to get a door slammed in his face, but the second victory of the day is hearing the creak of the hinges and the shuffle of feet on the floor as Nyx, after too much hesitation, decides to let him inside.

He follows the sounds Nyx makes walking the short distance to the kitchen and he listens to the slosh of liquid in glass as Nyx takes another sip of whatever he's been drinking directly from the bottle. "What," he says again, awkward like he hasn't spoken to anyone in a while, "the fuck do you want."

There is a chance this will go terribly, but Ignis has to know. Has been trying to know since the day he saw the first headlines back in Galdin Quay.

"I've been asking the Insomnian refugees what happened. When the city fell. They've had some interesting things to say about you."

Interesting and glorifying and unflattering all at once. The good and the bad. But Nyx was a ghost and they treated him as such, explosions of whispers every time he showed his face on a hunt or errand until he started to disappear all together. Ignis couldn't find Nyx, no matter who he spoke to no matter how hard he looked, the task consuming all his free time since coming to Lestallum, Noctis gone and daylight going. Who he found was Libertus. Oh, and how he'd laughed and laughed in Ignis's face and wouldn't give up a thing, but the longer they spoke, the more Ignis went to see him the more he felt the uncomfortable prick of eyes staring him down, trying to get a better look at the scars he kept hidden behind dark glasses. 

"He won't tell me," Libertus had finally said, "but you're welcome to try. Just leave my name out of it."

Another slosh of the bottle.

"So you listened to a bunch of rumors from some traumatized civilians and decided to bother me about it." There's a pause, "Why even ask.The Glaives are nothing but liars and traitors, or haven't you heard?"

"No," Ignis says, frustration boiling over at Nyx's flippant denial, "I hear _everything_."

What had he been expecting, that he walk in and Nyx, a near stranger, tell him it all, despite his avoidance at every other turn and every warning from the people that knew him. Yes. Yes he'd expecting something more than this because Nyx and him are the same and Nyx has to know that. He wants to grab Nyx's face, hold it in place, make Nyx stare unblinking at the wreckage of his eyes he wants to say _look at me_

_Look_

_At_

_Me_

He wants to say _stop lying_ because he can hear the truth in Nyx's voice, sure as Nyx must know. He must know. Nothing leaves a mark as ugly as the ring, nothing does so much damage to those not birthed to wield it.

“Get the fuck out,” Nyx says, “and don’t come back.”

Ignis leaves, as requested.

And he comes back the next day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's more difficult than he wants to admit.

Breathing hard, he clenches his jaw, hands gripping tight on the handles of his daggers and he tells himself _again_.

Again until you get it right.

He's circling a training dummy, standing in the center of the room and it's a test. Move, throw a dagger, move, hope you hit something. He has to get better at this. He has to learn, he has to _re_ learn all the things that used to come natural and that's the easy part. He has to relearn all the things that came harder and that's worse.

He has to be able to know where everything is around him at any given time, he has to know how to fight. He can't do Lucis any good if he can't fight for fear of hitting someone friendly, he can't be of any use to Noctis if he can't... He can't keep missing easy shots from a target that can't even fight back. He can't keep failing.

He can't ask for help. He can't let anyone see how poorly things are going. Gladio would just try to talk him out of it. Prompto would find too many ways to let him down easy.

He hears a door slam, the noise of the lights flickering on. He's been coming to the makeshift training hall at night, when no one else is there and no one has to see him fumble. During the day new initiates to the hunters come to train and Glaives come to sharpen their skills. Sometimes the Marshal watches over them- he'd been the one to suggest the training hall in the first place. He knows what Ignis has been doing, even if he's polite enough not to bring it up, all all the potential questioning discouragement along with it. Ignis assumes its him, or maybe Gladio, until he speaks.

"Didn't think anyone else would be here."

"Nyx," Ignis says, acknowledgment and greeting.

"Don't think I would have come if I knew it'd be you." Ignis decides that's fair. He's most likely been nothing short of a pain, with daily visits to Nyx once his foot was in the door. Sometimes Nyx let him inside, sometimes he doesn't, and more often than not there's booze on his breath, and he never answers any of Ignis's questions. But it's a start. It's someone new to talk to, that can tell Ignis things he doesn't already know. There's none of that tiptoeing around Ignis and his new... _condition_. A welcome difference, even if it's only the alcohol making Nyx blunt.

"What _are_ you doing here?" 

He can imagine Nyx's shrug, "The Marshal said I could use the place at night. Going on a hunt. I'm out of practice." 

Ignis decides the Marshal can be a bastard when he wants to be, and of the many things Nyx is,  _out of practice_ is not one of them. At least, not physically. It occurs to him that this may be just as much a mental exercise for Nyx as it is for him. Ignis has heard he only goes on hunts alone now, tired of prying eyes and too many people that can't keep their mouths shut. It sometimes seems like Nyx would try to disappear entirely if he could.

"Wanna spar? If you're here we might as well fight."

"Very well," Ignis says. Moving targets make noise, at least.

 

 

* * *

  

 

The most successful part of his first hunt is the fact that Ignis doesn't die. It feels like something worth commemorating- once the anger wears off.

Oh, and there is anger.

He should have gone alone, he thinks. He thinks it before, when Nyx shows up as he's leaving as if it's some kind of coincidence, he thinks it during the long ride and longer hike through the underbrush, he thinks it after, with bitterness and frequency, as Nyx drags him away from the cluster of daemons and back to the protection of the campsite to force a potion on him, even as Ignis spits _I'm fine_.

He's not fine. But that has nothing to do with the hunt. 

HQ said there was a cluster of goblins wreaking havoc that he could take care of, something quick and easy because despite how foolish he often feels these days, he is not stupid. The same reason and practicality that does not turn Nyx away when it's clear he plans on coming along, as much as it bruises his ego to have a human trainwreck thinking he needs babysitting. The unfortunate truth is that they spar with enough frequency to make them familiar fighters. He knows how Nyx moves.

HQ said nothing about a mindflayer.

In the moment, he feels the shift in the air, like static electricity, but he's underestimated how much the noise of battle can lead to confusion, particularly with the number of goblins that appear. He thinks, again, he should have gone alone because with Nyx somewhere around him the chance of making a mistake is high and one stray dagger and the Glaives will be short another one of their number. It makes him hesitate despite the feeling that they're about to get overrun and then he hears the sounds of more daemons spawning, crawling up from the ground and that putrid smell that comes with them. He hears Nyx yell, something that registers a half of a second too late and something _hurts_ and then-

Nyx. Unceremoniously slamming him into the ground and out of the way from an elemental attack. That's when it seems he decides that they best abandon the fight, even if it means dragging Ignis away kicking and screaming. 

"We should have kept fighting. We should go _back_." 

"And everyone says I'm the one with the death wish." Nyx's irreverence is grating. He hates it and he believes for a short while that part of him hates Nyx. He's wrong, of course, all caught up in misplaced anger. He should be grateful; Nyx saved his life.

"You should have left me then. I was fine to keep fighting."

He hears the anger in Nyx's voice then, finally something that's not flippant, "Maybe you're good with some useless self sacrifice, but I can't exactly show back up with a dead body unless I want to get accused of murder."

"We can't leave the hunt unfinished." Ignis shivers, sweat drying on his back. He wonders if he'd really gotten so used to the Lestallum heat, or if the rest of the world just feels colder now, all bathed in darkness for the better part of every day and soon to be even longer. He's told there's a hazy sort of cloud cover settling its way down, and he feels the damp chill. He takes a breath and when he speaks again he hates how desperate he sounds. "Nyx, we can't leave the hunt unfinished." 

There's a hiss of breath from out of Nyx's mouth, all his own irritation and reservations, but he must know. He must know, he must know why Ignis is so desperate why he'd rather die than go back in shame.

"Fine," he says, finally, and it takes them two days and three more attempts but they don't leave until every last daemon has drawn its final breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are moments. The more they fight together the more time spent time alone, moments that make Ignis nervous for reasons he can't explain. One hunt turns into two turns into five turns into ten. He thinks he should be bothered, that Nyx only sticks around because he's afraid Ignis will get himself killed and doesn't want that blood on his hands. But Ignis doesn't send him away either. Rather, he doesn't even try to. Attempt would prove futile. And maybe it's not all bad and he decides that sending Nyx away would be selfish. Nyx doesn't drink when they're together on hunts, and Ignis's pride can take a hit to say that babysitting a blind man is better than drinking oneself into a stupor alone.

He's been practicing the words in his head so they come out natural.

Just like he's been practicing the same basic recipe over and over and over until he gets it right. But even right still isn't quite right, because passable might as well be terrible when he used to be good at this. He used to take pride in this, and everything he could make, he used to love watching people's faces when they...

"If you'd like, I can cook something." 

Nyx stops moving. Camping fare has been canned soup, canned beans, canned anything heated over a fire. He's eaten worse. He's also eaten much, much better with fewer ingredients to work with.

Nyx says, "Alright," sounding hesitant, and probably for good reason. But Ignis has come prepared, or so he thinks. Prepared with materials, even if his mind is racing and it feels like he hasn't been this nervous since he first tried to address the Council in the middle of a meeting at age 16, thinking he had some important input about the war. It takes him a moment to get his bearings and then he takes off his gloves and starts to work. Simple meat skewers. Thin cuts that will cook fast, less of a chance of serving something raw in case his meticulous mental timer and trained nose lead him astray. Basic food but something warm and homemade to fight against the persistent chill that always seems to be a part of him now.

"Ignis..." so focused, he hadn't heard Nyx creeping closer and for once hadn't felt self conscious of eyes he couldn't see watching him. He stops, wondering why Nyx should sound like _that_ , sound like he's sad and then-

He feels hands on one of his own. They're warm, and he can distinctly feel the difference between the two, the texture of skin burned and scarred beyond repair and he feels a finger gently trace the burn mark on the back of his hand.

The thing is, sometimes he will knock in to things like the edges of the oven or hot pots and pans when he has a lapse in memory and spacial awareness, when he's concentrating so hard on remembering how much garlic or how many mushrooms, the thing is, when he calls his fighting daggers to his hands out from the ether, they always land with the grips in his palms, and his cooking knives do not do the same, the thing is, as practiced as he is with dicing and chopping, sometimes a finger or two or three get cut.

His heart is pounding. He pulls his hands away, turns away to grab his gloves again and put them back on before he keeps working. He is careful to keep a rough approximation of where Nyx is for the rest of the night, so he can avoid giving him a good look at his face. 

  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after i posted the first chapter [flavoredmagpie](https://flavoredmagpie.tumblr.com/) sent some amazing art my way and it has thoroughly and completely killed me. I hope the second chapter does it justice, check it out --> [here](https://notthelasttime.tumblr.com/post/180139245490/im-dying-flavoredmagpie-just-sent-this-my-way)

The danger comes in sitting idle for too long.

Ignis can keep himself feeling deceptively busy, and that's the problem. Talks with Cor and making plans, managing power grids and doing research. Anything he can get his hands on, anything about the Crystal or the long night, or _Ardyn_. Anything he can find to help Noctis. But all his research and all his planning, it's less active, more passive. It's not the direct action of going on a hunt, something done with his body and his hands, not just his mind, and culminating in a tangible result. But he doesn't think about it. And he doesn't think about the kind of pent up frustrations it could lead to, and he doesn't think of the million excuses he has to prove that this isn't avoidance. Because it's not, he's not avoiding being alone with Nyx and risking more of those nervous moments that make his stomach clench and drop. He's not. And after too much time spent stationary in Lestallum, he goes to visit Nyx to prove it. 

Of the many things Ignis hasn't considered, there are two regarding Nyx. One, that he should also be so affected by the downtime, more so as he wasn't conspiring with the Crownsguard or taking part in city planning, with nothing but empty time and the whispered rumors that follow him to fill his days. Two, that Nyx has stopped going on hunts of his own. That he hasn't been filling his own time and taking solo work anymore, that he was sitting stagnant. Waiting. 

It's bad. 

Somehow, Ignis thinks he should have seen this coming, when he has to knock three times on the door to get an answer, when he smells Nyx's breath and hears his loud and clumsy movements. Nyx has been drunk before and he tells himself it's no different. Self destruction isn't good and it isn't unworthy of concern, but Ignis tells himself this is more of the same when he knows it's not. It's in the air, something he can practically taste. He tells himself it's nothing. He thinks that he isn't nervous even as Nyx stays quiet for too long and tension blooms in every silence. They stand in the kitchen.

"Finally deigning to pay me a visit. And here I thought you were too busy brushing shoulders with the rest of the remaining Royalty." He hears the way Nyx spreads his arms wide as he says it, words slurring, and Ignis frowns. Because even if Nyx is drunk, if he's backsliding into sour moods, he doesn't know why he should be the cause of it. A proxy then, he decides, because that's an easier truth to swallow. 

"Nyx, I-"

"What do you want?" 

Ignis shifts, thinks again, and again _I wish I could see his-_

"I came to see you."

A laugh shouldn't be called a laugh when it sounds so bitter. "I can figure that much out myself. What do you _want?_ "

"Maybe.. I should come back. When you're not so..."

"When I'm not what?"

It's a trap laid out at his feet, and any move is the wrong move, so Ignis doesn't answer. 

"When I'm not. _What._ " 

"You've been drinking." 

"That's never stopped you before," he can hear Nyx walking closer, voice raising, "you always kept crawling back. What mess do you want me to clean up this time?"

There's nothing Ignis can say that won't make this worse, but he tries to think of something anyway. He thinks of reasons and explanations and tries not to think about how much everything stings.

"You're here, aren't you? Why waste a trip." Vemon carries easily in Nyx's voice. "Got nothing to say this time? What do you want Ignis?" He gets louder, and louder still when Ignis doesn't respond, taking too long to try and navigate the potential bombs in the conversation. Trying to get his voice to work.

"What do you _want?!_ " Nyx rushes him, close enough that Ignis can feel the heat of his body, the puff of his breath and spit flying from his mouth. "What else do you want from me, huh? You want to drag me along somewhere else to do your fighting for you?" 

It's not entirely unexpected, but Ignis flinches all the same. He flinches again when Nyx gives him a shove, and then another.

"Why do you keep bothering me? Can't you just fucking leave me be? Haven't I given enough? Haven't I done enough for _you?_ "

On some level Ignis knows. His practical mind can acknowledge the fact that the _you_ Nyx is referencing isn't just him, it's what he represents. It's the Crown. The Kingdom. The things Nyx let himself burn for that must be echoed back to him through Ignis's scars.

But all he can hear, all he feels from Nyx's pent up aggression, transferred from every scalding word and reckless touch is that it is him. It's all him, and all his fault. His uselessness and Nyx's picking up after him. Carrying him through hunts because he can't do it himself and too prideful to admit that he's been nothing more than dead weight, dealing with every prodding question that Ignis has no right to ask the same way he hasn't had any right to show up again and again to the dilapidated apartment with excuses piled high and never acknowledging an ulterior motive. It wasn't Nyx. It wasn't. It wasn't an empty apartment it wasn't an excuse to talk to someone that could- that might-

His face is hot. He doesn't know what expression is written there, only that he can definitively say it's not something he wants Nyx to see. So Ignis lowers his head as he turns in a rush to leave. He shouldn't be fumbling, not in a place he's familiar with, when he's be practicing going without the use of his cane, but he does. His hands fumble to find the wall so that he can lead himself out and his shoulder catches on a corner as he leaves the kitchen, unbalancing him but it doesn't stop him.

"Ignis," quiet enough that Ignis can pretend he doesn't hear it at all, and especially that he doesn't hear that pathetic misery slipping through. Words can't be unspoken. 

" _Ignis_ ," and now accompanied by the floor creaking under shifting weight, and Ignis moves faster, cutting the last word off with the slam of a door.

_Wait-_

 

 

* * *

 

 

"You're cold."

It's not a question. Therefore, an answer isn't an obligation.

They're here for a Lich.

Except it shouldn't be a _them_ , it should just be Ignis in a singular form, but then again when has Nyx ever been under his control. He went directly to Dave for the hunt, knowing Monica would tell Cor would tell either Nyx himself or let it slip to Libertus which is almost the same thing. And still, as Ignis showed up with a bag packed and ready to join the rest of the hunters headed the same way, crammed into the back of a pickup truck, without a word Nyx appeared and slipped into the seat next to him.

Damn him. 

And damn him for sitting so close so that with every turn in the road and every bounce of the tires their legs and arms and shoulders would brush until Ignis was nothing but a line of unexplainable tightness from the center of his chest down to the pit of his stomach. And damn him for when two hours in, he leaned over, barely whispered so only Ignis could hear the regret in his voice

_Sorry_

Damn him.

It's raining.

And _yes_ , Ignis is cold, but he doesn't see the point in admitting it. But that's fine as apparently Nyx is content to wait him out. 

They're setting up camp before going after the Lich, the trip out here taking so long Ignis thinks if he doesn't get some rest before they head out, it'll be another disaster of a fight (and the thought of it, the thought of being dead weight the thought of Nyx needing to charge in and save is sorry ass, the thought of those debts racking up the thought of Nyx yelling again _you want me to do your fighting for you what mess do you need me to clean up this time_ it stings, it all stings). He cooks (gloves on), without asking Nyx, and Nyx starts a fire, an act that's probably for his benefit. He doesn't acknowledge it. Part of him is so on edge he thinks he'll have to throw up over the side of the haven after they eat, but he's a master of pretending and he's said barely more than a word or two to Nyx since they set out.

Nyx tries in small ways, like he knows over-speaking won't do things any good and only make it more awkward. Ignis feels eyes everywhere he goes and hears Nyx fidget more than usual. And when the time comes to sleep Nyx zips their sleeping bags together. 

For warmth, he says. You're cold, he says again. Ignis doesn't say anything back, but he lays down all the same, raindrops pattering the top of the tent. It's smaller, than what they used to use all that time ago on the road. But with only two people to fill it, to Ignis it feels like he's surrounded by nothing but dead space. Maybe he'd feel different if he could see it, the low, slanting top, and only just long enough for them to lay down straight. He wonders if it feels claustrophobic to Nyx, if he hates that they have to be so close.

Nyx lays down next to him.

There's a little buffer of space because Nyx is always so careful about that sort of thing. He doesn't crowd. He doesn't stand too close or hover in the annoying way some people do, like they're waiting for him to make a mistake and they'll be on him, correcting him like he's a child. No, Nyx isn't like that. It makes all the slips stand out that much more when they happen, like fingertips on a scar or... a push, a shove. 

Ignis keeps himself facing the side of the tent. 

It is warmer with them sharing body heat, even with the valley between them. And the daemons don't seem to be causing much ruckus, leaving just the gentle sounds of the forest around them, wind in the trees, the gentle rain. It should be comforting and he should be comfortable, but Ignis can't sleep. He counts backwards from 100, then does it again. If anything he feels more awake the more time goes by, and he hears the first distant roll of thunder. 

"I didn't mean it." Soft as Nyx's voice is, it still almost makes Ignis jump. He assumed he was the only one with a sudden bout of insomnia.

"I didn't mean any of it and none of it was true. I shouldn't have said it but I was..." Nyx lets a breath pass slow out of his mouth, "I was kinda pissed you didn't come see me sooner. And I was drunk. And then you were there and I could... I could take everything out on you."

He hears Nyx move and for a moment he thinks he feels a touch along his shoulder blade, gone almost as soon as it appeared. Some time later in the night when Nyx falls asleep he'll move closer without meaning to, and wind up breathing onto Ignis's neck. And even that non-touch will feel more real and more substantial.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

Ignis curls in on himself just a little bit tighter before he says, "No. You shouldn't have."

 

 

* * *

 

  

"Can you... tell? When the sun's out." Nyx struggles over the right word. Ignis can hear it, but it doesn't grate in the usual way. Maybe because it's Nyx. And the fact that Nyx manages to leave the subject alone without feeling like he's tiptoeing around it, like everyone else. Then again he wonders if Nyx had been drinking before they left and he just hasn't noticed. He wonders if Nyx keeps a flask on him, sneaking sips in secret when he wanders off saying he has to take a piss. 

"Yes," Ignis says after considering the answer, "I can tell." He thinks he can, anyway, and hasn't ever wanted to ask if the light and warmth he _thinks_ he feels is all just wishful thinking, and he'd rather not deal with the poorly contained pity radiating off whoever he's questioning. Because he can picture it; he can hear Prompto, in that too-kind too-gentle voice telling him _I mean, it's dark out, but_   _it's totally lighter where you're standing, really! It is!_

"Why," Ignis asks, suddenly frowning and thinking he's wrong after all, "it's not light out now, is it?"

"No. Not yet, anyway, but there's a rock formation nearby where we're headed. I thought... it might be kind of nice. If we're up there, while the sun's out." Nyx makes no mention of the view. 

If this is part of his atonement then Ignis thinks that there are worse ways to make an apology.

There are a few more hunts now between them and the incident in Lestallum, each with a declining amount of strained silence between them. Nyx is somewhere between doing his best to make an apology through action and giving Ignis space and time. He doesn't push, but he's nicer than he was. Not so quick with snapping words and flippant responses and Ignis is torn. It annoys him. It doesn't annoy him. The effort is nice. He doesn't want Nyx to kiss ass and pretend, but... Nyx without the constant bitterness is a better Nyx to be around. Ignis just doesn't want it to be fake. For his sake. He hates that he can't tell when Nyx is lying. 

They climb up a hill over terrain that grows ever more rugged, until they hit a wall of rock and they climb up that too. Nyx is delicate with his directions, only correcting Ignis if he doesn't correct himself first and he keeps his hands to himself. They reach the top of a flattened boulder with no incident and some time to spare so they wait. Nyx plops himself down with a groan and stretching sore muscles, cracking knuckles before he swings his legs over the ledge they've fond themselves on. Ignis likes to think his hesitation is not noticeable before he walks forward and sits down as well. And they wait. 

They share a drink of water and they wait. Nyx reclines back onto his elbows and as Ignis thinks about asking him the time, it happens. 

It's gradual and slow and Ignis doesn't notice it quite at first. Daylight can be hazy even on good days, or so he's heard, with none of the bright, clear days they used to have, not with the coming of the end of the world. But he can feel it, he realizes, and tilts his head back to let it all in, to bask in the warmth while he can. To remember it. To remember what it feels like when it's gone so he knows what he's fighting to bring back, and it feels like all the forest is quiet with him humming in its own memory, placid and careful of breaking the trance. 

Nyx is looking at him.  

It takes him long enough to notice that he's embarrassed he doesn't know how long it's been going on. And again, there's a ball of tension in his stomach and he doesn't know if he wants to call Nyx out or not, but before he has a chance, Nyx says, "You can feel it." 

Ignis gives a little nod, a quiet yes. 

"I thought it might do you some good y'know? You've been looking pale. Well, you've always been kind of pale, but more noticeable lately."

Ignis gives a huff at the comment, not entirely insulted, but something makes him tilt his head, "What do you mean, _always?_ "

"I mean always. Even back at the Citadel. Probably from being locked up inside all day." He says it all so natural, like it's all obvious, a given, and Ignis feels himself growing serious.

"I didn't think you ever noticed me. Back at the Citadel."

Nyx laughs at that, "You were kind of hard _not_ to notice."

There are a million different ways to digest that single sentence, and Nyx is oblivious to them all.

The light fades too fast, the sun only out for what Ignis estimates iss maybe a half an hour. And soon there will be nothing but darkness, soon even those brief glimpses of day will grow shorter and shorter until they're gone entirely. "Come on," he says, "We've got Hecteyes to take care of." 

And so they do. 

The hunt is easier than expected. Ignis does not delude himself; he knows it was not a difficult mark, he knows it's not because of his own skill. Getting to the haven is a hassle, but no more than an inconvenience of minor daemons and muddy ground, but it's still tiring. The way that everything in this world, falling apart at the seams is tiring. No more, no less. 

There is a familiar pattern to their movements now, of setting up camp, of cooking food and bedding down. They lay down, the two of them together. You're cold, Nyx says. He zips their sleeping bags together again, as he has been. Another habit forming. 

"You did good today," Nyx tells him in the dark, when it's clear they've been laying there for too long with neither of them sleeping. Ignis doesn't think he makes a noise, but he must because Nyx says, "I'm serious," sounding like he means it. But it's followed by a sigh, and words left unspoken in the air. Hanging on the edge of a cliff. Ignis says nothing, either way.

He hears Nyx roll so that they're facing each other, except it doesn't matter much to him either way. Everything looks the same in the dark.

"I'm serious," Nyx says again, like he's worried Ignis didn't hear. "You know I... I said I didn't mean any of that stuff from before." All at once Ignis feels rigid, and there's a weight settling deep in his stomach. He thinks he doesn't show it but he does, he must, judging by the way that Nyx keeps talking. "You're good in a fight. I'm glad I've got you at my back." 

Ignis blinks, and for all the thoughts racing through his brain, he's detached. Blank. Stiff body and flat expression and a dead eye staring straight ahead. 

"I'm dead weight." 

His words hang in the air like fireflies and the night sounds to quiet.

"You're not," Nyx says, and there's just enough sadness written in the undercurrent that Ignis wants to squirm and get away from it, but instead in lays still.

"You're not," Nyx says again with more force, and Ignis wants to tell him that he's blind, not deaf and Nyx doesn't have to keep repeating himself. He stops short when he feels a hand over his, one that hand been laying palm up in the space between them. It's gentle. And tender in a way that makes Ignis grasp at feelings, from somewhere far away again he hears Nyx telling him _you're not, you're not, you're not dead weight, you're not useless_ , and then he feels a mouth on his because Nyx is kissing him.  

He's being kissed.

In that same gentle way, and Nyx's lips are chapped, but he's careful and slow and gentle. And Ignis, unmoving, stares straight ahead with that unseeing eye.

He thinks: if this is part of his atonement there are worse ways to make an apology.

He thinks: if Nyx opens his eyes now, what would he see? 

Something ugly. A vapid eye staring out, seeing nothing. Where was that eye pointed now, some spot low on Nyx's cheek, some place just off to the side of his head, close enough, but wrong enough to be unsettling. And what did that eye look like? He didn't know, was it perpetually dilated, rimmed red and bloodshot, or bloody, was it glassy, milky white, covered in film, was it black like the scourge, a daemon's eye in a man's face, or did it burn like he had burned, and burned until his body was raw and the other side of his face, his other eye, scabbed, gone, scarred, ugly-

Nyx isn't kissing him anymore.

"Shit."

Nyx says it more to himself than to Ignis and then he says it again, pulling back so far away there might as well be miles between them. " _Shit_. I shouldn't have- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." 

Nyx turns his back again after another apology, and if Ignis didn't know any better he might thing there's embarrassment there, embarrassment that Nyx is trying to turn away from. He's never seen Nyx embarrassed. Second guessing his actions is not a fault Nyx has. Ignis lays there, unmoving still, staring straight ahead, hand in front of him, palm up, and heart beating fast so deep in his chest he can't be sure it's his. He must eventually fall asleep at some point because when he wakes, Nyx is gone. There's a message left on his phone in Nyx's voice. He tiptoes around words, says something about maybe Ignis doesn't want to see him right now, but they'll see each other back in Lestallum. But Ignis can't see anyone. Not anymore. 

He cleans up camp and makes his way to the nearest outpost. Takes on another hunt. Goes back out into the darkness. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a big time idiot!!! didn't finish it in time for ignyx week so I split it into 2 chapters and now here were are...... another chapter to go................
> 
>  
> 
> you can find me (and yell at me) on [tumblr](https://notthelasttime.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/nonethelasttime), and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/notthelasttime)


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